To Impress upon a Brother
by yoshi09
Summary: Francis and Bash talk about Mary. Also explores the relationship and closeness of two brothers. Takes place during the Pilot episode (s1e1). Gapfiller for why Bash seemed cold to Mary when he first sees her and when he first talks to her after she chases Sterling. Frary and Mash friendly.


A/N: Bash was rather cold in his initial reaction to Mary and also when he first begins his conversation with her after she runs after Sterling. Wrote this gapfiller to explore why— also to further delve into the relationship of two brothers that didn't get nearly enough screen time together that showcased their closeness.

* * *

Francis walked into Bash's room with a breathless, excited gusto— bright-eyed, all smiles, and uncannily pleased with himself. He stopped in front of Bash and leaned his weight back onto one leg, spreading his arms wide like he was some announcer about to present a grand magician.

"So, what do you think?"

"Reserved, timid, boring." Bash deadpanned, not looking up from where he sat at his table, sharpening his sword. Where his brother came with the sun on his back, aglow with the heady rush of new love, Bash was contrastingly dark in almost all manner but his eyes. He wore his black under armor, sat in a relatively darker space of his room so the sun wouldn't catch his sword while he pushed the sharpening stone across it, and even his demeanor was unusually withdrawn. Bash continued, "Not your type at all. Though nothing a month at French court can't fix."

Francis seemed unperturbed by his older brother's behavior, striding across the room with light-footed vigor before plopping down at the edge of his brother's bed. "She is also curious, encouraging, compassionate and," Francis looked at Bash with the slightest of mischief tweaking his expression, "very pretty."

Bash wasn't nearly as taken. "From afar at least. Whether or not she deserves my brother remains to be seen." he leaned in to check the edge of his blade before continuing his paced movements over his sword.

"She is far prettier up close." Francis fell back onto Bash's bed, aflutter with some memory, clearly infatuated, "Bash, she came to my rooms not too long ago."

"Ah, so maybe not as reserved and timid as I expected."

"One wishes." Francis chuckled. "No, my blade room. In the east wing?"

"By curious did you mean nosy?"

Francis chose to ignore the question. "She called my interest in being a bladesmith 'fantastic.'"

Bash flipped the blade to its other side and then switched sharpening stones without a glance from his sword. "You of all should know people throw flowered words to flatter for favors."

Francis chuckled again, clearly in high spirits, and he rolled up so he was back in a seated position. He placed his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, enthused. "Bash, she is genuine. She called _your_ idea of me taking my interest in the blade and learning how to make them, to create something of my own and keep the pressure of politics at bay, 'fantastic.'"

Bash paused in his actions, rolling his eyes before he looked at Francis for the first time since he walked in. "Appealing to me will not make me appeal to her."

Francis opened his mouth for rebuttal but then paused, expression turning thoughtful. "Why are you so determined to dislike her?"

"Because respect is earned, my dear brother, not given."

Francis was unruffled. His lips upturned at the corners, keen to get his brother out of this unforeseen rut. "She is a queen. Who can milk a goat."

Bash couldn't resist the absurdity of the image, and he smiled, despite himself. "Well, that I can respect."

There was a moment of shared laughter and then Francis sobered, his smile fading as he looked some distance away, recounting memories. "She... is much different from when we were children."

"I wouldn't know. Your mother was determined to keep me from the both of you while you played." he returned to his sharpening. "I doubt Mary much remembers me. Past my name."

"It's a shame. You might like Mary now if you'd have just ignored my mother like you usually did and joined us."

"Truer words have never been spoken— but if your memory serves you, you'd remember our father was also particular about me staying away." Bash paused, as if a thought just occurred to him. "It is hard to develop a fondness when all my memories of Mary are her being a barrier between you and me."

A bout of silence passed. Bash was the first to break it.

"Well, Francis," he looked up from sharpening his sword, "are you going to keep Natalia waiting?

Francis regarded him for a moment, his own mood somehow dampened. "I don't think she will be visiting my chambers again. With Mary back in the picture."

Bash smirked. "She never left the picture yet that never stopped you before."

Francis gave him a look, to which Bash raised an eyebrow. "Mary is different." Francis said, his chin lifting just slightly and Bash was reminded how petulant his younger brother could be when challenged.

Bash put the sharpening stone and his sword aside altogether in favor of counting on his fingers. "Olivia was different. And so was Marie. And Cecelia. And—"

Francis held his hand up to halt Bash's list before it became longer and Bash stopped, smiling in turn. The fair-haired brother couldn't refrain from mirroring his brother's grin. "How _do_ you remember all their names?"

"A woman is more than pleasure and play."

Francis let out a small exhale of disbelief. "Said by the flirt of the court himself? Shall I call a scribe and dictate the time and day?"

"'Flirt of the court.' Is that what they call me now?"

"Well, that and 'fast rider,' though I'm not sure which riding they may be speaking of..." Francis let the statement trail off, exchanging a knowing look with Bash.

Bash rose both eyebrows. "Mark my words, brother," he leaned in closer like he was sharing a secret, "definitely the horses."

They shared yet another chuckle, Francis looking down at the floor in the process. When he looked up again, his eyes caught upon the glinting of Bash's sword, newly polished— sharp. Francis licked his lips. "Are you off to your hunting then?" he was attempting to hide his envy and was failing.

"Yes, soon." Bash followed Francis' gaze to his sword. "You won't be joining us today? We're not going far and the game we're after is hare. Father would allow it."

"_Father_ wants me to spend time with Mary this first day."

"Ah." Bash took the weapon in his hand, gracefully sliding it back into his hilt and out of the dauphin's sight. "Well let's hope this engagement with Mary does not continue chaining your freedom."

Francis looked away. "Freedom. Now that is something to be desired."

Bash softened, leaning over to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "You will soon become the King of France, and then you will be drunk with freedom."

Francis smiled, thankful for the sympathy, and Bash returned it. There was a moment of companionable silence and then Francis said, "Bash, you're always badgering me about 'keeping an open mind' and 'expanding my horizons.'" Bash rolled his eyes and looked away, sighing a little. He knew full well where this was going. His brother was shameless in taking advantage of his sympathetic nature. Francis continued, "now I'm asking you to keep an open mind for Mary." Bash gave him a look and Francis pretended not to see it, "She reminds me a little of you, you know. Free." Francis paused, letting the word fill the room, knowing Bash understood the implication behind it, the request he was asking of him, before saying it outright, "Try to like her. At least a little?" He clapped Bash on the shoulder, using it as leverage to get back on his feet. Francis made his way to the door, as if Bash's lack of response was an agreement, but before he strode out beyond the door frame Bash remembered himself at the last moment and called after him, a little disgruntled.

"Is that a command from the dauphin of France?"

Francis didn't even look over his shoulder as he turned the corner and out of sight, his voice ringing through the hallway. "Consider it a request from your brother."


End file.
